


Best laid plans

by targaryen_melodrama



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, SAMBUCKY NATION, anyways little plot much fluff, how are we doing??, how they do 🥺, it's been too long!!!!!!!, this is how we do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryen_melodrama/pseuds/targaryen_melodrama
Summary: Bucky had somehow managed to get bigger in the time since Sam got the shield—“from carrying all the worry and good sense on my own” he said when he tried (and failed) to be funny. Big as he’d gotten, he isn’t nearly broad enough to hide the scene unfurling in their apartment.Sam rubs his eyes for just a second to make sure his tired eyes aren’t playing any tricks on him.“Um...happy Valentine’s Day?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89





	Best laid plans

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'ed, feel free to point out typos etc.

This is the kind of quiet, Sam thinks as he and Bucky climb up to their third floor apartment, that immediately makes him suspicious. Aside from the noises of the city, muted now that they’re inside, the sound of their boots hitting the stairs is the only thing Sam can hear. Their whole building seems empty: there’s no one on the phone, no music playing in any of the apartments they walk past, there isn’t even anyone cooking or showering.

Truth be told, Sam is pretty close to not caring, since them being home at all at this point is a blessing. Their Friday night stakeout had turned into a weekend long chase after some low-level villain playing with high-level technology, the kind who’d had more guts than brains, and posed little physical threat—great for Sam’s muscles, but terrible for his ego: he can’t even pretend there’s a reason behind his exhaustion. The assignment had been long and annoying, but it hadn’t been particularly difficult. Yet his knee creaks with every step he takes, his scapula and his lower back are staging a mutiny, and his left wrist is throbbing, making Sam feel every one of his…almost forty years on Earth.

Sam is very, _very_ close to not caring. But he’d be a terrible Captain America if he _strolled_ right into a trap. And worse—if he dies now, after they’d made it through this weekend, Bucky would never let him live it ( _live_ it?) down.

Before they make it to their apartment’s landing, Sam puts two fingers on Bucky’s elbow to get his attention, and frowns.

Bucky turns to him with a blank face. "What?"

"What do you mean _what_?" Sam’s making his _something’s off_ face. They’ve avoided ambushes, nosy reporters, and rocket launchers off of the strength that face alone. Bucky _knows_ what this means. "It’s way too quiet in here."

"Hey, I’m the paranoid one in this relationship. Get your own issues.”

“Well _duh_. Should tell you something that I’m pointing this out before you do. Sure your head’s alright?” Low-level villain had a pretty high-level throwing arm, which Bucky had been on the receiving end of more than once.

Bucky scowls. "My head’s as fine as it can be.”

“Okay, so how do you explain this smell then?” They’re right outside their apartment door, and it smells like they'd stepped into a Bath and Body Works on steroids.

“It’s just tulips, Sam,” Bucky sighs as he takes his sweet time unlocking their door. “They smell good.”

“Well unless an entire flower shop crash landed in our apartment— _wait_. How do you know they’re tulips? Bucky?”

Bucky had somehow managed to get bigger in the time since Sam got the shield—“from carrying all the worry and good sense on my own” he said when he tried (and failed) to be funny. Big as he’d gotten, he isn’t nearly broad enough to hide the scene unfurling in their apartment.

“Um...happy Valentine’s Day?”

Sam rubs his eyes for just a second to make sure his tired eyes aren’t playing any tricks on him.

“I thought—” Sam has to stop and _think_ about where he’s going to step, since eighty percent of their floor is covered in red and white rose petals, and another fifteen is taken up by candles and huge bouquets of tulips. “I thought you said you weren’t a romantic?”

“I’m not?”

“So what’s—” Sam’s interrupted by music. Live music. There's an actual string quartet in their living room, playing what Sam belatedly realizes is a string rendition of K-Ci & JoJo’s _All my life_. Next to them are two massage tables, and two masseuses standing awkwardly beside them.

The tiny part of Sam that’s not shocked into silence is mildly dismayed that the quartet’s chosen to open with _All my life_ , which is _wedding_ material, not quite suited for a romantic evening.

The other part of him, aside from being stunned, is just _tired_. An hour ago, Sam would’ve given his first born _and_ all his life savings to have access to teleportation technology and go from HQ straight to bed. Any other time, after teasing Bucky about going so completely overboard, Sam would’ve played along and enjoyed every second.

Now though? After their weekend? All Sam sees is hours of cleaning and too many strangers in his home.

“Hey.” Sam almost startles when he feels Bucky grab his hand. “Can we, ah, talk?”

Sam nods, follows Bucky who leads him to their small kitchen, leaving behind the quartet who’s now starting a….somewhat stirring rendition of _Let’s get it on_. Better than _All my life_ , though a bit early. And quite on the nose.

Sam pours them both some water, and once Bucky’s glass is drained, he leans his hip on the counter and asks again. “Not a romantic, huh?”

“I may or may not have exaggerated that. I—” Bucky looks away, aims that adorable self-deprecating smile at the floor. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well it’s definitely that. And a fire hazard.”

“I’m sorry. May have gone a little overboard.”

“Okay, no, don’t apologize, Buck. But I thought we’d agreed we weren’t doing anything for Valentine’s Day.” They had. Sam had also ordered a first edition of _Frankenstein_ that should arrive by end of day tomorrow, but Bucky doesn’t need to know that.

Bucky shrugs. “It just didn’t feel right to not do anything at all for our first one.”

“So you planned all this?”

“What I’d _planned_ was for us to spend a weekend outside the city and come back to this to top it off. But some jackass had to go steal an alloy pulverizer and everything fell apart. And now—”

Now the only thing either of them want to do is go to bed. To _sleep_.

“I really am sorry, Sam.”

“And I really mean it when I say you shouldn’t apologize.” Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, kisses him gently and lays his head on Bucky’s shoulder. It’s mostly funny, and always, _always_ adorable, that Bucky is the most detailed, precise planner when it comes to their assignments. He’s a one-plan-man, and he’ll stick with that plan until he can’t. But when it comes to their relationship, his strategy seems to be to throw every romantic gesture at the wall, one for every word he can’t say and every feeling he can’t express, and see what sticks. It shouldn’t work, it really shouldn’t, but Bucky’s so damn earnest about it that it does. Every time.

Before they untangle themselves and deal with those poor people who must be wondering what the hell is going on, Sam has one last question.

“How the hell did you manage to get the entire building empty?”

“Should we be worried that our neighbours are really easy to bribe?”

“Tomorrow. We’ll worry about it tomorrow. You deal with the people, I deal with the metric ton of flower petals?”

“You got it.”

Bucky kisses Sam’s forehead before he lets go, walking to the quartet who’s going into the bridge of _Power of Love_.

“Are you gonna get in trouble if you don’t play for the whole two hours?” Bucky asks.

The cello player shrugs. “You’ve already paid for this, technically.”

“Great. Do you have Cash App?”

“Uh, I have Venmo,” is the last thing Sam hears before he heads to their bedroom.

Since their bedroom is mercifully untouched by the flower tsunami, Sam goes to their broom closet to grab their vacuum cleaner and makes a mental note to order one tomorrow, since this one definitely isn’t gonna make it after Sam’s done.

The candles are all blown out by the time Sam makes it back to the living room, small grey clouds over their red floor.

“Go shower while I take care of this, I’ll be done by the time you’re out,” Sam says.

“Sounds good.”

While Bucky’s in the shower, Sam puts on his own playlist—ironically, just as romantic, but a little more lowkey. By the time he’s out, their living room is halfway back to normal.

“Your turn,” Bucky says, taking the vacuum from Sam’s hands. He’s in flannel pyjama bottoms, a white t-shirt and cozy slippers. “Your pyjamas are already in the bathroom.”

“My thoughtful man,” Sam says just to watch him blush, and smiles when he does. “I’ll be out soon.”

Sam is quick, but Bucky is somehow faster, and meets him in the bathroom as Sam steps out of the shower.

“Want me to apply your heat rub?” he asks, grabbing a small tube from their vanity.

Of course he’d noticed Sam’s shoulder had been bothering him. “Please.”

Sam feels the last of his annoyance about their weekend slip out of him as Bucky rubs large, firm circles into his shoulder. “For next time—”

“Next time? This is the last time I do this.”

Sam pinches Bucky’s arm. “Romance has to die of natural causes, you can’t kill it.”

“Sorry, habit.” He kisses Sam’s right shoulder blade before rubbing in a layer of cream. “Go on.”

“For next time, I’m a big fan of orchids. And chrysanthemums.”

“Orchids and chrysanthemums. Noted.”

Sam’s stretching, stifling a yawn when he notices one last remnant of Bucky’s Valentine Extravaganza.

“Shit,” Bucky says quietly. “There is that.”

 _That_ is the massive clawfoot tub Bucky had insisted they purchase when they rented this place together, filled to the brim with yes, _of course_ , more roses, but also lavender scented bubbles floating above blue-tinted, shimmering steaming water.

It’s tempting. Lord, it’s tempting. It would help him with the pain, and get them both to relax even more before going to bed. But—

“Nah. We’ll fall asleep in there and drown.”

“Pretty romantic way to die.”

“Barnes, we agreed. Short hair means you don’t get to be emo anymore.”

Bucky sighs. “Bed?”

“Bed.”

Once the tub is drained and their teeth are brushed, they’re finally ready for bed. Bucky collapses into their California King—a Christmas indulgence—first, and Sam crawls in after him, settling his head on Bucky’s chest and his left leg between both of Bucky’s.

"I’m sorry I had you clean for Valentine’s Day."

Sam would pinch him again, but he’s too comfortable to move. "Stop apologizing. The apartment smells nice, too."

“In three days you’ll get sick of it and requisition Shield’s cleaning team.”

Sam sighs contentedly. "Yeah."

Most of the skin on the top left of Bucky’s chest has sustained too much nerve damage to be sensitive to any stimuli, save a small patch of skin, no larger than the pad of Sam’s thumb, right at the center of Bucky’s heart. Sam kisses it, as he does the few times they choose to sleep in each other’s arms, and tightens his hold on Bucky.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, baby."

"Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart."

**Author's Note:**

> It feels like it's been ages since I wrote these two, I am rusty as hell but happy to do it again. 
> 
> Btw alloy pulverizer is....nothing, I took two words I'd heard on a superhero show and I put them togehter. Sorry.
> 
> Anyways, I am on [Tumblr](http://targaryenmelodrama.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/andrea_b_tweets) !


End file.
